


Touché

by bea_bickerknife



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: And that would be way too practical, Egregiously non-nautical boathouse activities, F/F, Of course they don't wear masks while fencing, Orwhistle, They're Volunteers, Various Femslash Drabbles, pre-ASOUE, pre-Schism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife
Summary: Touché: A word which in fencing means "hit," in French means "touched," and here means both.





	Touché

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@rawrawraygor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40rawrawraygor).



> As ever, I own none of the characters in this work, nor do I derive any remuneration from its posting.

Late morning sunlight streams in through the windows of the second story of the boathouse, imparting a honeyed glow to the wooden floors and rafters. Outside, Lake Lachrymose looks almost painfully picturesque, its glittering water flecked with brightly-colored canoes and its shoreline promising a cool, pine-scented retreat from the July heat. On a day like this one, it’s a view that draws Georgina’s eye and doesn’t let it go.

Sprawled out on the piste, tailbone throbbing and dignity sprained, she is beginning to suspect her opponent of actively using this to her advantage.

Josephine grins down at her. “You are a fierce sparring partner, Georgina.”

 _Well_ , she winces, sitting up, _at least she’s a gracious winner_. “But not nearly as formidable as you, Josephine,” she admits, her gaze flicking pointedly toward the tip of the foil, which catches the light as it bobs up and down a few inches in front of her spectacles.

If she sounds breathless, it’s because they’ve been sparring for nearly two hours. If she looks flushed, it’s because she’s not accustomed to losing. If she feels dizzy as a Josephine clasps her hand and pulls her to her feet, it’s because she’s still a little shaken from her less-than-graceful landing on the cork mat.

And if she feels weak at the knees when Josephine pulls her closer and presses her lips against the corner of her mouth, well, that’s because somewhere between beach bonfires and ill-fated diving lessons and coffee-fueled nights spent in the library debating the role of grammatical prescriptivism in cryptography, she’s fallen for her.

Hard.

 _She’s married_ , chides the portion of her conscience that always sounds uncomfortably like her childhood priest.

 _It’s an **open** marriage_ , corrects the much larger portion that left the Church for a reason, thank you very much.

 _She’s a colleague_ , points out the voice of practicality.

 _Right,_ scoffs the remarkably sarcastic voice of experience, _because there's no fraternization **whatsoever** between Volunteers. _

_She probably meant it platonically_ , cautions the part of her memory responsible for recollections of an all-girls boarding school.

“Come on, Gee,” murmurs Josephine herself, and although the trace of a grin still lingers in her voice, there’s nothing platonic about the look on her face. “You know you want to.”

She’s right.

Carefully, as if she’s trying not to startle herself awake, Georgina turns her head fractionally to the right and kisses her full on the mouth.

It’s exhilarating and invigorating and refreshing, weightless and grounded all at once, and she wonders hazily if this is what swimming feels like when you’re not afraid of water.

The kiss deepens.

Two foils clatter to the floor, abandoned.

Josephine doesn’t do things by halves. It’s among her more admirable qualities: the care she takes in choosing a course of action, her steadfast commitment to that course, her categorical refusal (as one of their colleagues is fond of putting it) to hesitate, lest she be lost. It comes as no surprise to Georgina that she kisses with that same single-minded conviction. It’s her own reaction that startles her – how immediately she allows Josephine to take the lead, how completely she surrenders to the insistent warmth of her lips.

 _If adrenaline had a flavor_ , she decides as she wraps her arms around the taller woman’s neck, _it would taste like Josephine Anwhistle_.

She’s not the kind of brave that skydives, and she’s certainly not the kind of bold that challenges an alligator to a wrestling match and wins, but with the lake still shimmering behind her eyelids and the sweet scent of sweat and cedar all around her and Josephine’s hands gliding over her as if the curves and contours of her body add up to a code she’s determined to crack, Georgina feels something raw and reckless rising in her chest. “ _More_ ,” she gasps in a voice that sounds much too fervent to be her own.

There’s a hunger in Josephine’s gaze, a heat that seems to flow into Georgina when their eyes meet, swirling in her head and rippling down through her chest to pool somewhere below her stomach. When she replies, however, it’s with almost solicitous composure. “Are you sure?”

Georgina has known the answer to that question for months, has chosen her course and committed herself to it, and for once, she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she says. “ _God_ , Jo, yes.”

For the second time today, she finds herself on her back on the piste, looking up into Josephine’s grinning face.

This time, she doesn’t mind one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired by another of @raygorartshit's very fabulous drawings: http://raygorartshit.tumblr.com/post/157707136555/so-im-combining-show-and-book-canon-cause-you


End file.
